


One Simple Touch

by GettheSalt



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:26:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettheSalt/pseuds/GettheSalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's somewhat ridiculous the things one simple touch can do to a person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Simple Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Totally brought on by the realization that Fitz just lets Ward hold his wrist while they’re arguing in The Hub.

The first time he realizes it, he has no right to be dwelling on it. They’re deep in enemy territory, and they’re on a time table, and they don’t have an extraction plan. When Ward pulls his hand away from the Overkill device, and keeps his own fingers around Fitz’s wrist, he doesn’t pull away. He listens to what the other has to say, and then bites back. He isn’t a coward, and no big, muscled specialist is going to have those delusions about him. Especially not Grant Ward.

Still, the second the words ‘I am every bit the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent you are’ leave his mouth, he remembers where his arm is. He’s aware of the dull electric shots thrumming up his arm. There wasn’t anything strange about it, until now. There was no reason to question it, while he railed back against what Ward must have thought about him.

But, being held onto, feeling where Ward’s skin pressed against his where his jacket sleeve was riding up; Fitz realized in a double hit how strange it was, and how much he wasn’t averse to it.

It made sense to punctuate his words by pulling his arm back, sliding his wrist from Ward’s fingers. It served the double purpose of clearing his head.

And making him almost ache for that warmth again.

They make it out of South Ossetia okay, all things considered, and when he lays in bed that night, he rubs his wrist, marveling at the memory of that warmth, the lingering sensation of those dull electric thrums through his veins, starting where Ward’s skin touched his.

It wasn’t the first time they’d ever touched. What had made it different?

Was it the closeness?

Was it the heightened emotion, the heightened danger?

Was it how warm Ward’s palm had been, in the middle of that northern chill?

All Fitz knows was that the next time Ward touches him, he leans into it. He chases it with his body, trying to understand, and hoping Ward doesn’t notice.

A finger against his chest, leaving too soon, in the midst of his apprehension, for him to remember how it felt.

A hand on his shoulder, making him still, begging it to stay so he could see. See if everything felt the same as that moment.

Fingers around his upper arm, pulling him along, giving him the time to analyze the touch, to feel the warmth seeping through his jacket awakening the electric current in his veins.

A palm against his neck, a face, bruised over the cheekbone, so close, asking him if he was okay. Asking him a second time when he hesitated to answer, too caught up in his observations.

The first time he realized it, he knew he had no right to dwell on it. Weeks, months later, he wishes he’d understood that he’d had no right to dwell, and not chased the notion. Weeks of touches, months of clinging to imagined warmth.

Now there was no way not to dwell on it. And it hurt to be head over heels infatuated, all from one simple touch.


End file.
